


The Dawning Light: A Solution in the Valley of Loss

by ravyn_nevermore



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Anal Sex, Angst, Army Husbands, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Loss and Grief, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Married Couple, Possible Dub-Con, Romance, Same-Sex Marriage, Smut, consulting husbands, improper prep, obviously nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 10,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravyn_nevermore/pseuds/ravyn_nevermore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty gone, John Watson and Sebastian Moran find themselves lost. That's when they realise they're not so different after all and so find each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Excerpt from the life of Cpt. John "Three Continents" Watson.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can there possibly be life after death?

18 July, 2011  
_Two weeks. Two weeks since my very best friend- and the man I loved so dearly- threw himself from a rooftop with no regard for anyone else. Two weeks since I last left this flat. I suppose I'll need food soon, but I haven't been eating. The produce in the refrigerator is starting to go bad. All the meat is freezer burnt and useless. I've been living on tea, water, and biscuits... though they usually all come back up later._  
_Two weeks since I last felt anything but anger, emptiness, and pain. Two weeks... and it feels like two centuries. I haven't spoken to Mrs. Hudson since the funeral. I haven't spoken to Greg or Molly since then either. I don't really need them, did I? I have myself, my bottle of Beefeater... what else do I need?_  
_I've grown tired of asking myself why the hell he'd done it. Why Sherlock left me. Now, I'm just angry at the bastard. Yes, I know. Even my therapist said this is backwards. I've denied, I've bargained... Now, I'm just depressed and angry simultaneously, and growing angrier every time I look at his empty chair. There were other ways, dammit. Ways of getting help. I'd begged him not to, but... of course, anything I said never mattered, did it? To hell with him._  
_I don't know why I bother writing anymore. I don't publish anything on my blog. Haven't since the funeral. I suppose it just gives me a way of talking. I won't see Dr. Thompson anymore. She's never understood me. The only person to have ever understood me is dead. You know, I don't even know why I'm still alive. But every time I go for my Browning, something stops me. I wish I knew why. I'm tired of being sick and angry._

 

     Sighing, I run my hands through my hair, making it stand up worse. When's the last time I showered? Let's see... it's Monday afternoon so... carry the one... A week ago? Maybe? Repulsive. Perhaps I can convince myself to shower and go out for a week's worth of grocery. I down the rest of my gin and spit the ice chips back into the rocks glass before running my hand over my face. Like sandpaper. Okay. Definitely a shower. 

     Twenty minutes later, I'm wrapped in a towel and wiping steam off the mirror. Fuck's sake. I look like I haven't slept in five years. I've got an entire aeroport's worth of baggage under my eyes. Maybe I'll pick up sleeping pills, too. And you know, maybe changing the way I look will help. I won't look like the same person who fell victim to the charms of that arrogant bastard. I'll look like the babysitter I honestly was.  
       
      Bit of shaving cream, leave the growing mustache, and suddenly... I'm a new man. Or... I almost am. On the inside, there's still pain and anger. God, why won't this stop?  
I pull a comb through my hair and stuff myself into jeans, a t-shirt, and an oatmeal-coloured jumper. A pair of trainers and a jacket have me heading down the stairs, wallet and phone being stuffed into my pocket as I open the door.  
  
     There's a man standing- swaying, actually- on the other side of the threshhold, his fist up as if he'd been preparing to knock. Instead of using the buzzer? Hmm..  
I'm fairly certain I've never seen him before. Tan, tall, muscular with black hair, thinned on the sides but thick and wavy on top. There's a scar on the right side of his face. Three, actually, as if he'd been clawed by something. He looks to be about my age and there are dog tags hanging from his neck, but he doesn't look like anyone I was in the service with. He gives me a crooked smile and if I weren't so surprised and confused, I'd think him to be attractive. He stumbles in closer and wraps his arms around me, causing me to go rigid and clench my fists. "Oh good. You're home... Captain Watson," he slurs.


	2. The Impaired Sobriety of Col. Sebastian "Basher" Moran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're not so different, you and I.You'll see that we are the same, just as they were.

     If you had told me two weeks ago that I'd be drunkenly hugging the man my boss had me targeting while he "played" with the detective, I would have laughed in your face. Similarly, if you had told me two weeks ago that my boss was going to shoot himself in the head, I probably would have punched you in the face. James Moriarty was stronger than that. Smarter than that. And so to what end? Just to prove a point. Jim was a man-child, sure... but he was never weak, desperate, or stupid. That's what that was. I don't know if I'm even in grief. I'm just shocked and confused and, if I'm being honest with myself, a little lost. I was a colonel for the First Bangalore Pioneers, yes, but that was years ago. Since being employed by Moriarty, I'd become accustomed to taking care of him and following orders. It was like being institutionalized.  
  
     The more I drank, the more I thought. And the more I thought, the more I began to realise that the man I'd been aiming at through the scope of a Colt M4 was not so different from me. He was a captain in the army, he babysat a eccentric man-child... maybe he'd enjoy a beer. Maybe we can put this all behind us and find some kind of light at the end of this tunnel. After all, he loved the detective, and I can't say I wasn't particularly fond of my boss.

     So here I am: sloppy drunk and hugging him as if he's an old friend. He's never even seen me before and this is the second stupidest thing I've ever done. Bloody hell. Maybe I should start over. I pull away from him. "Sorry, er..." I hold out a hand to take his. He stares at my hand and looks up at me. "Colonel Sebastan Moran, First Bengalore Pioneers. 'S a pleasure t'meet you at last."

     I didn't know he'd ever heard my name before, but his face drops into what can only be described as a death glare. Before I can do anything, he takes a hold of my dog tags and pulls me into the foyer. Next thing, John's hand is around my throat, nearly crushing my windpipe as he slams be against the wall. I grab his forearm for purchase. I'm too drunk for this shit...

     "Moran," he growls, "The one who works for Moriarty? The one who nearly killed Sherlock and myself at the pool?"

      "Yes," I gasp, "But..." My words are choked off as he squeezes harder and strikes me with a left hook.

      "You bastard. You absolute filth," the captain spits. I can't breathe and I claw at his arm until he lets me go. I slide to the floor against the wall and gasp for breath. Normally, I enjoy being choked, but in totally different circumstances. Watson stands over me, glaring.

     "Ha... Haven't you ever done somethin' just 'cause he asked? J'st 'cause it's part of your job," I manage to ask once my breath has returned, though my voice is still hoarse. What a grip... "It was never anythin' personal, Capt'n. It was my job. I w's his chief of staff 'n' head marksman. I w's paid to do what I did. And you're not the only one who suffered loss. James took his life on th't rooftop too without warnin' me. And I really don't know what to do."

     I think for a second that perhaps I've appealed to his sense of humanity and hospitality when he reaches a hand out to help me up, but then I see the suspicion in his sapphire blue eyes. "Listen," I beg, "I know you don't trust me 'n' you've no reason to, but lemme buy you a pint 'n' we can have a chat, yeah?"

     The shorter man stares at me for a moment before responding, "Don't be stupid, you're far too drunk to have beer. Come upstairs and let me get you a glass of water. Only because I'm a doctor and it's my job. Then you can be on your way. Got it?"


	3. The Bad Idea (Or: The Test on John's Ability to Trust)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John discovers perhaps he can trust someone new. After all, he couldn't trust Sherlock in the end, could he?

     I must be out of my skull entirely. The grief has driven me mad. I didn't expect it to happen this soon. It's either that or I'm more drunk than I thought. Here I am, leading the sniper up the stairs and into the flat I used to call home- it isn't a home without Sherlock. I can almost feel my instincts and good nature at war with each other. But if I've never seen him before when he was trying to kill me, he wouldn't show his face now only to kill me. And he would have shot me already. He doesn't seem armed. As a doctor, the right thing for me to do is to get him some digestives and water and send him on his way. I'd do it for anyone... wouldn't I?

     I help the man- Sebastian, he'd said- to settle on the couch. I'll be damned if anyone ever sits in Sherlock's chair! "Just... don't move. I'll be back with water and something to absorb a bit of the alcohol."

     Sebastian, still swaying, nods and I turn to leave him, keeping an eye out the entire time. I still don't trust him. I can't. By the time I return with a few digestive biscuits and a glass of water, he hasn't moved or spoken. He accepts the biscuits and water with a word of thanks and I'm at least pleased that he has manners.

     I settle on the coffee table, and I watch him slug down half the glass-like a man who's been in the desert for the past two weeks- before I speak again. I can't help my morbid curiosity and I wonder if we're as alike as he seems to think we are. "So... Moriarty... killed himself too? You saw it? Heard of it?" 

     Colonel Moran grimaces and nods, taking a bite of a digestive and chewing it thoughtfully. He seems to be biding his time, almost like he's reluctant to talk about it. I wonder if he's even said it aloud before today. When he swallows, he responds, "From where I was... aimin' at you- sorry by the way, but a job's a job- I could see him put the business end of a pistol 'tween his teeth 'n' then he... dropped. And th'n your Mister Holmes... well, you know th'rest."

     My heart clenches and I turn my gaze to my shoes, taking in a breath. I barely hear Moran's word of apology for pouring salt into the wound. Another moment before I look up again. "Well... I'm sorry if you are grieving, but I can't say I'm heartbroken about the loss of that psychopath."  
Moran shrugs. "I dunno if I /am/ grieving. But he weren't all th't bad. S'pose I was fond of him from time to time. Guess it comes with being employed by someone for so many years."

     My curiosity got the better of me again- that's what roped me into Sherlock's life. "So, you and Moriarty... you /weren't/ together? Because Sherlock always said--"

     "A lot of people say a lot of things, Capt'n. That don't make it all truth. He's not exactly m'type. But the same can be asked of you 'n' Sherlock."

     I purse my lips and shake my head. "No. Again. Feelings, yes... but nothing was ever said, and he was always so... distant, I suppose. I don't think if I expressed said feelings that anything would have come of it. He might have even laughed in my face." I shrug. "It doesn't matter. He's long gone and I'm more than angry at the bastard."

     The sniper laughs and I almost dare to crack a smile. With a mouth full of biscuit he says, "Y'see? We're not so different, Capt'n. I can' say I had feelin's for Jim, but I'm just as angry at him for up 'n' leavin'. Would have been decent to warn me first. But I s'pose he wasn't a decent man... Still, he wasn't above manners..."

     I nod as the colonel takes another drink of water. When he lowers the glass, we make silent eye contact for a moment and that's when I know I'm doomed. There's something in his eyes- whether it's the look of a veteran, the pain of loss, or the light of kindness- that catches my attention. I trust him almost as instantly as I trusted Sherlock.


	4. The Empty Flat... Is Not So Empty Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's less lonely if I stay here and we suffer together

     I'm amazed at the change in Watson's expression. Though he still looks lost and hurt, I see the light change as if he is no longer wary of me sitting on his couch. I have a bit more red in my ledger than he does since my history is a bit more violent than his, but I wonder if he'll see past that. I hate to admit it, but I need someone like John Watson. Captain. Captain John Watson. I don't think I've ever /needed/ a friend, but once you become accustomed to a certain routine... it gets difficult to be alone. I think the last time I got properly wasted, I begged the bartender to let me make him a sarnie. I can't say that's my most shining moment...

     I clear my throat, feeling better from the glass of water and the captain's generosity. "You were heading out wh'n y'saw me. 'M I keepin' you from somethin'?

     Watson lifts and drops his shoulders. "I had finally talked myself into going out for food. Everything in here has gone bad. I haven't eaten properly in two weeks, as you can imagine."

     I watch him push himself up from the coffee table and disappear into the detective's bedroom. When he returns, I see he's tucking something into the waistband in back of his trousers. Oh right. That's where he keeps his gun. I'm not as concerned as I might need to be. I'm unarmed and drunk, but I could still hold my own if I needed to.

     "Well," I sigh and get to my own feet, staggering a bit. "I'll be on m'way th'n. Thank you, Capt'n for hearin' me out. Sometimes it's jus' nice to know someone understands."

     "You, um... Don't have to go, Colonel." I can hear the hesitation in the man's voice. "I think you're too drunk to do too much damage, and... and most of the stuff in here is Sh--" He swallows thickly, seemingly forcing the detective's name past his lips. "Sherlock's, anyway. Not much would interest you, I imagine. Unless you like research material and insects in a display case..."

     "I think I can be on my best behaviour. I'm unarmed, but you aren't. And you're more sober than I am. I think I should know better than to cross you right now. You've got a helluva grip on you..." I rub at my throat where he'd grabbed me earlier. "I think I'll just kip here on your sofa if you don't mind. And you don't have to call me Colonel. Sebastian will do. And friends call me 'Basher'."

     The doctor wrinkles his nose. "Sebastian, then. You're welcome to the sofa. I shouldn't be gone more than an hour." He nods affirmatively and I settle back onto the cushions.

     "Thank you," I murmur just as he slips out the door. I curl up on the sofa and, though it's not the best furniture I've ever slept on, it's better than nothing and offers a small bit of comfort. I end up listening to the steady dripping of a faucet somewhere in the flat until my drunken brain is relieved from its duties and overtaken by sleep.


	5. Johnnie Walker and the Beefeater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I barely remember the last time I wasn't alone; drinking with you seems to numb the pain.

     I must be out of my mind completely if I'm letting a sniper- Moriarty's right hand man- sleep on my sofa while I'm out. Or at all! In his drunk state, he seemed harmless enough. Time will tell just what kind of man he is. But I trust him. I'm not entirely sure why, but something about him has generally calmed my mind and I've found trust.  
I can't bear to take a cab alone. The empty seat will only remind me of Sherlock's absence. So, instead of going to Tesco to do any proper shopping, I opt to walk a few block to the nearest convenience store.

     "Just the essentials," I tell myself as I pull open the glass door. I smile politely at the woman behind the counter when she greets me, but I'm quick to move on. Seems odd that women haven't interested me in a while, but a string of bad luck with them has turned me off for the time being. And in my current state, it's no time to look for someone new. I don't need anyone but myself. And Sherlock. Damn him.

     Within an hour, I've stocked up on frozen pizzas and boxed dinners and headed home. Just enough for a week. I told myself I didn't need it, but I'd managed to pick up two bottles of liquor as well.

     "James! No!" I stop as soon as I've opened the door, but it would seem that the words were shouted by Sebastian, whom I've apparently startled awake. I blink slowly and look over at him: sweaty, panting, sitting bolt upright. I know that look. The look of a man who's just suffered a nightmare.

     "Didn't mean to startle you," I apologise as I close the door behind me gently. I drop my keys on the coffee table, set down the bag of liquor, and take the rest of my shopping into the kitchen.

     "Oh. Right. Captain Watson. I'm sorry, I-- I must have been dreaming. The door sounded like a muffled gunshot in my sleep.

     God, don't I know that all too well? "I understand," I assure the man as I put away the shopping. I go to retrieve a pair of rocks glasses from the cupboard, but find they're all gone. That's when I look to the sink and see the neglected pile. Grimacing, I pull down two coffee mugs instead.

     Sebastian shifts so he's sitting up properly and moves to the end of the couch. He rubs his face and looks at me as if he isn't sure what to say. I set the mugs on the table and settle on the opposite end of the couch.

     "Pick your poison," I offer, pulling out a bottle of Beefeater gin and a bottle of Johnnie Walker scotch whisky. I set them both on the table. The colonel almost- not quite, but nearly- smiles as he reaches for the bottle of Beefeater and pours it into the mug closest him.

     "Been a while since I've enjoyed a nice gin," he mentions conversationally. "But I will probably have scotch, too, if you don't mind. After all, Johnnie is a favourite of mine."

     I nod and fill my own mug with scotch, holding the cup out to Sebastian who taps it with his. He nods and we both down a fair amount simultaneously. We're both hurting, we both need to feel numb; what could go wrong here? We'll get drunk and fall asleep. No harm done.


	6. The Loss of Self-Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One thing always leads to another...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In celebration of SCOTUS passing #MarriageEquality into law, here is a new chapter. I think you all know what will happen next ;)  
> #LoveWins

     The gin goes down smooth. I don't even remember what I'd gotten drunk on this morning. Probably one of my last old bottles of Indian port wine. Good stuff, dozen or so years old. I'll have to remember to share some with Watson if I have any left. Common sense tells me that gin is the last thing I need right now, but I really could care less about common sense. The alcohol numbs any stupid feelings I may have had and helps to heel any pain I've felt.  
  
     I'm not one for small talk, but I'm not one for awkward silence either. I suppose I can try for conversation. "I really hope you don't take the whole assassination thing personal. I just do what-- did what--- Jim asked me to do. It was a job. I followed orders. Odd for a colonel to be the one following orders, but given my history of violence and my need for money, the partnership worked itself out."  
  
     The man shakes his head and downs another bit of scotch. "No... 's all right. We do stupid things when we need money. Or a thrill. Or a fix..."  
  
     "Zat what Sherlock was to you? A fix? Did he pay you?"  
  
     John shakes his head yet again. "His brother offered me money to spy on him and report back, but I'm not exactly in the business of spying. I guess you could say he was a fix. Fixed my life up a bit. I was a shell of PTSD and depression when he and I were introduced. And of course the danger and thrill of his lifestyle kept me firmly rooted where I was."  
  
     I nod. That's all very familiar to me. Though there was never any lack of excitement in my own life. "I understand," I assure him, refilling my tot of gin, though it was far from empty. I down more and watch the other man refill his own. "Full time job, babysittin' a sociopath. I might've been Jim's employee, but I was the voice of reason too. More'n once had to put him in a time out. Like an overgrown child." I laugh and god, does it feel good. Especially when John laughs with me.  
  
     "Oh, is it ever. I felt more like a dad than a partner most days. 'Sherlock, no.' and 'Sherlock, apologise.' or 'Sherlock, you've had enough'. I never really had to put him in time out, though. He usually just sulked around when he was scolded."  
  
     I watch as John smiles into his glass as he takes another healing drink. Sort of enchanting, really. Stirs something in my belly that I've ignored for quite some time. "You look nice when you smile." The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. "I'd say happy, but... well, neither of us is happy right now, are we?"  
  
     The doctor looks at me, surprised- I think- and he licks his lips. The feeling in my belly swirls violently. Oh no. "Erm... thank you," he says, quietly. "Feels good to laugh."  
  
     "Does," I agree. I look at him for a moment too long before tearing my gaze away and frantically swallowing down the last of my gin. I set the glass down a bit too hard and stand up, swaying. "Erm... bathroom?"  
  
     I follow where John points and make it into the bathroom just barely. Apparently, I hadn't sobered up very much before we started up drinking. I lean against the door and close my eyes. My heart is pounding painfully against my sternum. I blame it on the alcohol but deep down, I know the truth and I'm avoiding it: I'm attracted to the man I was supposed to kill a week ago. This won't end well. Not in the slightest. But then... he let me stay here. Maybe.  
  
     "Sebastian?" I jolt immediately, startled my John's voice and his rapping upon the door. "Are you alright in there?" How long have I been in here?  
  
     "Fine," I assure him briefly, stepping forward and turning on the faucet. "Out in a moment." I stare at my reflection for a moment. _Just breathe, Basher. Dammit. Forget it. It's not going to happen._ I scrub the water over my face and pat it dry with the hand towel. Aside from the flush of drunkenness, I look almost human. That will be helpful if I am to have any success with John. _What am I thinking?  
  
_      I turn the water off and open the door, face-to-face with John. My heart lurches violently. "Oh. Sorry. Didn't expect you to still be waiting." I notice the flush on his face matches the one on mine. Lightweight.  
  
     Together, we stagger back to the sofa and plop ourselves down. Not paying attention, we both reach for the Johnnie Walker at the same time and our hands brush. Instantly, images come to mind of what those hands would feel like: one fingering my arse and the other wrapped around my cock. _Enough, Basher! Get yourself together!_ Without a word, I remove my hand and John fills both of our glasses.  
  
     "A toast," John says, raising his glass and tapping it against mine. "To adult babysitters." We chuckle together and empty our glasses. He relaxes against the back of the sofa, smiling drunkenly, and I find myself staring at him again.  
  
     "What, something on my face," he asks. I shake my head, but lean forward- I can't convince myself to stop- and seal my lips against his in a sloppy, out-of-practice kiss. I hear him grunt and I'm worried for a second that he'll shove my away, but he doesn't. He grabs a fistful of my hair and shoves his tongue in my mouth. Oh. John Watson is aggressive.


	7. Through the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This might be a bad idea, but I can't bring myself to care

     I'm really not sure why I'm kissing this man that I barely know. This man that was trying to kill me two weeks ago. All I know is that I'm drunk and I really, really don't care about anything right now. Feels good to stop caring for a bit. They say that sex is a natural response for those in grief. It's apparently a good reassurance that you're still alive. Makes sense.  
  
     ...Wait. _Sex...?_ Am I really planning on having sex with Sebastian? A quick survey of my own body confirms that yes, yes I am. This may just be the temporary release that I need. For being a higher-up, he's easy to dominate. I like that. Still holding him by the back of his hair, I manage to get up from the couch and drag him into Sherlock's bedroom with me. Serves the bastard right for dying on me, doesn't it? And if my legs get tangled with Sebastian's and we nearly topple over a few times on the way to the bed, no one is around to care.  
  
     I must have blacked out for a second, because as I finally pull away from the kiss, we've both worked out of our shoes and trousers. Really, there's no need to waste time is there? And shirts... they're not really in the way... Just the important bits need to come out. Pants find their way to the floor and hands find their way into hair again as teeth and tongues tangle once more.  
  
     With more strength than I realise I had, I manage to turn the taller man around and bend him over the edge of the bed, pushing his face down into the mattress, my hand in a firm grip on the back of his neck. Pliant bastard. He most be loving this; he's keening and rutting against the bed and it's a fantastic fucking sight.  
  
     Lube. I should probably go and get the long-untouched bottle of lube from my bedroom. Too far. That would take too long. At least I have the mind to dig out the condom from my wallet, in my trousers, in the corner of the room. Sebastian doesn't even notice. Poor, drunk, depraved bastard. The condom is lubricated, so it'll help, but he'll regret this in the morning. Or maybe not. Not a single cell within my body cares and it feels so fucking good. I've spent too long caring too much.  
  
     Yeah, my drunk hands aren't very dexterous and it takes me a good minute to open up the condom, but I eventually manage and roll the damn thing on, tossing the empty wrapper god-knows-where. Sebastian seems to have forgotten what's going on, because he gasps as soon as I press up against his waiting hole. It doesn't even register that he's either never done this or that it's been a while. He'll definitely feel this in the morning.  
  
     No point in wasting time, I remind myself as I push my way into him, sinking in slowly. I watch the sniper grip the bed sheets as he grits his teeth and grunts. I have to stop for a second to breathe once I've bottomed out. He's so tight. I really should have taken the precautions, but it's too late now and I'm not leaving this glorious moment to go and throw things around my room until I find the lube.  
  
     It gets better when Sebastian begins to loosen once I start thrusting. I consider a slow, steady pace for half of a moment, but I really just want the release as soon as possible. The colonel groans as soon as I set my relentless, brutal pace and I know I've definitely made the right choice.  
  
      Both of us are panting. Or maybe one of us has stopped breathing. I don't know. I can't tell with the sound of flesh on flesh echoing throughout the room. Nothing matters. It feels so damn good to lose myself to something as basic and instinctual as raw fucking.  
  
     I don't know how my drunken brain has gotten bored, but it has. I'm sort of tired of pummeling into him like this, so I pull Sebastian up and keep him bent just so. My hand closes around his throat- another sign of dominance. I could kill him if I want: his windpipe at my palm, his galloping pulse at my fingertips. But I won't. This is for pleasure. To establish my status. He may have tried to kill me, but in this moment, I own him. Sebastian moans and brings a hand up to rest on my wrist. I think he likes this.  
  
     As I close in on my orgasm, my thrust become more arrhythmic and scattered. It isn't much longer before I slow abruptly, my hips snapping as I come. A strangled groan escapes me; god, I needed that.  
  
     Feeling gracious, my fist wraps around Sebastian's cock as I stroke him furiously, working to finish him off. The man is fucking putty in my hands and I wonder how the hell he was ever made a colonel. He's leaning almost his entire weight on me and fucking _mewling_.  
  
     Finally, his hand reaches back and claws at my thigh and I feel this length twitch and throb as he releases over the bed. Sebastian lets out a relieved moan and slumps in my arms. Somehow, we manage to collapse on the bed, side by side. I barely pull out of him before I'm lost to sleep I sorely need.


	8. Good Morning, Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man without warning leads to a very sore morning.

      _God. Can't someone turn out that bloody light? I'm trying to sleep!_

     Having quite enough of the disturbance, I slowly open my eyes. _Oh. It's just the sunlight through the windows. But... where am I?_

     Slowly, I sit up, my head throbbing from the drink. Alka-seltzer and aspirin. First thing I need. _Wait... why am I in just my shirt? And I feel... sticky..._ I look to my right and John Watson is lying facing the opposite direction in just about the same state I am, but still sleeping. We didn't! Did we?

     I sit up a bit more, the pain in my arse confirming that we, in fact, did. Well, that explains why I dreamt about a rogue rhino headbutting me from behind. Definitely not the worst thing I've ever done. Besides... he's especially handsome when he's sleeping. And based on his state yesterday, I think he really needed this sort of deep sleep.

      _What time is it anyway?_ I twist around and find the clock on the nightstand staring at me, shouting in angry red numbers that it was nearly 1200 hours. I blink hard. I really need that aspirin. First, however, I turn back to the man sleeping nearby. Gently, I caress his face with a fingertip, trying to stir him. "Good morning, Captain," I purr as sweetly as I can muster- which is not easy.

_CRUNCH!_

     And now I'm sitting on the toilet in the bathroom, holding my bleeding, and possibly broken, nose while John wraps an ice pack in a hand towel.

     "Sorry, Sebastian. You should know better than to try to wake a heavily sleeping soldier," the good doctor apologizes.

     "No. It's fine. It's all... fine." I pull the wad of red-stained tissues away as he replaces them with the ice pack. "I would have likely done the same thing. Besides, this isn't the first time you've punched me."

     The other man chuckles and I smile in spite of my injury. I really shouldn't like him this way, and yet... here I am. Nothing changed between drunkeness and sobriety except I'm better in control of my words and actions."Look-- Sebastian, about last night... We both know what happened. That's obivous. And I think..." Oh no. I know what's coming. Damn him! "...that is was a mistake. We were drunk and grieving and... we both just needed the release. We both needed that reassurance of life and... we should agree that it won't happen again."

     Funny he says that when he's taking care of me and we're both still not wearing any pants or trousers. "Oh," I sigh. "Yes, you're right. Won't happen again."

     "But," John adds, "I don't see why we can't be... friends. We're in a similar place in our lives and... you seem to need somewhere to spend time when you're not doing... whatever it is you do."

     Ah, the old 'sleeping with you was a mistake, but we can still be friends!' line. Disgusting. It actually makes me think for a moment, however. Do I sever this chance at friendship because I'm a bit hurt emotionally, or do I go on with it and pretend like I feel nothing? No, this won't be like it was with Jim. I refuse to be isolated. Violent and brash or not, I deserve a friend, dammit. "Alright, John. Friends it is," I concede. The captain smiles geninuely. That's a sight I could get used to.


	9. Fast-Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, life is relatively painless.

_10 February, 2012_

_It's amazing to look and see that the last entry was two weeks after Sherlock's death. I've come quite a long way and so much as happened. I still think about Sherlock, of course, but in the way someone thinks about an old home they were fond of. I miss the familiarity, but I'm growing in this new home._

_I haven't left Baker Street. Sebastian helped me clean up the flat. For an assassin and sniper, he's quite a nice bloke. Except when solicitors come round. He's almost like a guard dog: loyal, surly, but sweet, and wicked defensive. I like him. It makes me wonder how we never crossed paths properly before. We might have been proper friends. Sherlock and I may never have met. My life could have been different. I don't know. Best not waste brain cells on 'what if's._

_Most days, I can't stand to send Basher home. What a violent nickname, but you should see the way he lights up when I call him that. It's like it affirms our friendship. Silly things like that, I guess. We make each other happy. Well... as friends should, anyway._

_I slept with him back when he showed up at my door. Actually, it was on the day of my last entry. It was a mistake, I suppose. I experimented in university and in the army, but I'd never really done anything beyond that. Not when I came home, anyway. I was drunk, but it wasn't the worst thing I've ever done. I think he and I just both needed the release, the reaffirmation of life. He was grieving, too, though I'm certain he won't admit it now._

_We take care of each other, Sebastian and I. We keep each other company. He helps me keep the flat clean and I feed him up. We did exchange small Christmas gifts, and we got pissed on New Year's. I think he thought about kissing me at midnight, but he didn't. I don't know if I would have minded; I was drunk, too._

_I'm recuperating well. I think I'll even look for work again in the spring. With Sebastian around, it's been easy to get my head back. He's got just the right sense of humour to make me laugh, and sometimes I just smile watching him hunt down a spider or fly to squash. He acts like it's big game he's hunting. I've gotten used to having him around. I don't know where he goes when he's not here, but he always comes back when I ask him to._

_It's Saint Valentine's Day this week coming up. I don't know that I'll leave the flat. I don't really care to watch all of the couples milling around and making me nauseous with their love and public displays of affection. Maybe I'll go out for dinner with Sebastian, just for a laugh. It'll probably just turn into a drinking game or something. Who knows? Who cares? Mrs Hudson already thinks we're a couple and, with the devastation of Sherlock disappearing, I don't have the heart to correct her So she thinks my best friend is my boyfriend. So what? It's not harming anyone. What she really knows is that I have a bloke over a lot and he makes me quite happy. About that, she's absolutely right._


	10. Saint Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But does love really conquer all?

     The last thing I expected was for John to invite me out for dinner on Saint Valentine's Day. Of course, I jumped at the chance for a date, even if that's not what it was to him. I told myself the feelings I've been holding for the doctor are delusions brought on by grief and a near-constant state of inbreation. But I know that's a lie. Sounds like a romance novel, but every day I spend with the man, the feelings seem to get harder to ignore. It's maddening, really.

     Here I sit bathed in candlelight, in the nicest clothes I own- trousers pressed and hair neat, gazing into the sapphire eyes of this man who has captivated me. _Damn it all to hell._

     His eyes light up as he chuckles over some joke he's made and I realise I've been too lost in his eyes and not paying attention, so I laugh with him. _Oh god, that bright, shining smile._ He takes a sip of his red wine and licks his lips after. _Curse that teasing pink tongue..._ "So what about you," he asks and I blink.

     "Hmm? What about me?"

     "You and Moriarty. Ever played gay together for your own personal gain?"

     Oh. That's right. He was talking about the time Sherlock dragged him to a gay bar on their stag night and they put on quite a show for some free drinks. "No. Can't say that we did. Not our thing, really. But you know Jim played gay to lure the detective in." I take a swig of my own wine to hide my bitter jealousy of that bastard detective. John chortles.

     "Yeah, I remember that. Sherlock was so rude and so oblivious. He was ridiculous sometimes. I'm glad to be rid of the drama."

     My grip tightens on my wine glass and I swallow down some more.

     Our waitress breaks the momentary awkward silence when she delivers our food. We thank her and she leaves us with a smile and what looks like a knowing glance.

     I'm actually thankful for the silence that mouths full of food grants us. It makes getting through dinner easier and I find myself hoping that the man doesn't want to stay for dessert. I don't know how much more of this romantic atmosphere I can take.

     "So..." John licks his lips- _for fuck's sake, enough!_ \- and wipes his mouth with his linen napkin. "What do you want to do now that we've finished? Find a show? A film? Get pissed and pass out?"

_I've been thinking about professing my undying love for you, so taking away my filter isn't the best idea. For once, I'll have to pass on the drink._

     Love. That's new. Is that what this is? Interesting. And quite awful, if the truth be told. John's looking at me expectantly. I'd better give an answer. "Been ages since I've gone to see a film. I wouldn't mind that."

     John smiles and nods and I quietly sigh in relief. As long as I sit three seats away, everything should be fine.

     We split the cheque, and the cab ride to the cinema is hell because John's hand is resting on the space between our seats and, not only is that dangerously close to my own hand, but that's typically the universal sign for 'I'd like to hold hands with you', but John said we're to be just friends. _Is he trying to kill me? Or confuse me?_ This is just bloody awful. My heart is pounding so hard I'm afraid he can hear it. Thankfully, the cab ride is short and we're soon making our way inside and to the ticket booth.


	11. How Things Are Meant to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't help it, and neither can you.

Honestly, I don't remember much about the film we saw earlier tonight. There was a pull neither the sniper nor myself could ignore any longer and we spent a good forty minutes- at the very least- attached at the lips. And tongues. Hands grabbing at waists, hair, neck, thighs, clothes. After all, it's Valentine's Day and we're two single men with basic needs... so fuck it, right?

Whatever happened, however it happened, it doesn't matter. All I know is that I've got Sebastian spread out beneath me and he's so fucking pretty when he mewls and whines and begs for more. Christ.

"Harder, Captain," he whimpers, and god, if that's not got a direct line to my cock.

Never a selfish man, I accommodate his request, driving home and striking his prostate on every thrust. And oh, how I'm rewarded! The way Moran bows off the bed leaves porn stars and gymnasts envious. Some sick, primal instinct kicks in and I bend down, licking and kissing my way from his stomach to his lips, swallowing down each beautiful sound he makes.

If it's ten minutes, it's an hour. Despite our eager, desperate movements, it's a good while before either of us start to peak, and even then, I can tell he's going to go first. My hand closes around his cock and I pump even quicker than I'm thrusting, anxious to watch him come undone for me. At least this time, I'm sober and thus, enjoying every moment. Sex with Sebastian Moran is even more glorious than I've imagined- given that the first time didn't exactly count. Not that I've gone a lot of imagining.

Finally! I feel Seb's body tense around and under my own. He's ready. He's there. And when he finally comes, sobbing my name, I think it's the one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I'm not far behind, and so with two more deep, well-maneuvered thrusts, I'm seeings stars and filling the condom with a shudder.

"Ah, Sebastian," I sigh, going boneless and collapsing atop him, our sweaty bodies sticking together immediately, but I can't be bothered to care.

There's a lull as Basher and I come gently floating down from our high. No sound but our gasping, panting breaths. Barely another feeling but the beat of our hearts together.

When I've mostly recovered, I sit up and look down at him, pecking his lips as I gently withdraw. The condom is tied off and tossed in the general direction of the waste bin. I roll over and lie beside this ridiculous man whom has captivated me, my arm sliding around his waist.

"Basher?" He doesn't speak, but turns his head to meet my gaze. "I just want you to know... I'm not going to call it a mistake this time."


	12. Another Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't change a single thing.

The sun's been up for hours and so have I. John is no less beautiful when he's sleeping than the first time I observed him. A man in his most basic, vulnerable state. He snores lightly, drools a little. His silver-blonde hair is a mess. I can see stubble beginning to pepper his face though he shaved just last night.

Last night. I hadn't expected it to go quite that way, but I'm glad it did. Here we are: in love. It's disgusting and wonderful. It's terrifying and exhilarating. I wouldn't want anything to be different. We've grown close over the months. I hate leaving him, but I've learned never to overstay my welcome anywhere.

At last, the doctor begins to stir and I smile, waiting for him to wake a bit more. I learnt my lesson with trying to wake him, and another bloody nose would ruin the mood. Finally, I'm met with a pair of sleepy blue eyes and it makes something in my chest swell.

"Morning, Seb," he mumbles, and I lean in to peck his lips softly.

"Good mornin', John. Coffee?"

"Not just yet. I've got other things in mind." I raise an eyebrow, but I don't have time to question it before his lips are crushing against mine. Oh. So, when he's not hungover, he wakes up horny. I could get used to this.

It's not more than a moment before I'm on his level and he's pulled me on top of him. The view I have when I'm riding his cock is different, but I almost prefer it. This way, I get to focus on every lip bite and tilt of his head as he moans and thrusts up into me, and it's gorgeous.

It doesn't take nearly as long as last night and soon enough, I'm lying back to catch my breath. "So. Breakfast?

"I think toast and beans might tide us over til lunch. I'll be ordering in, because I have no plans to leave this bed today," John replies.

I can't help but smile. I think this is going to work out tremendously.


	13. Time Enough At Last For Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I'd only been open, this could have happened sooner. But I wouldn't trade this for the world.

I really am not sure how this has all happened. It certainly wasn't expected. If I was going to fall for a man, Sherlock seemed the most likely. He was certainly pretty enough, impressive enough. But, then, I suppose, that was the biggest thing that drew me to him. We didn't really have anything in common and it never would have worked out in the end. I also didn't know that Basher existed and being in love with him makes far more sense to me. Basher can be rough around the edges, certainly, but I see him the way he truly is, and it's beautiful.

If someone had told me at any point before Sherlock's death that I would fall in love with a sniper who had previously tried to kill both Sherlock and myself, I would have scoffed at the very idea. But I truly love Sebastian for all that he is. Every scar, every flaw. I wouldn't call our relationship perfect and full of rainbows and sunshine. We fight like any other couple. Sometimes it's about significant things and sometimes it's about stupid things. No matter what, the make-up sex is truly spectacular and the angry sex is even better. I'd wager that Basher knows my body better than any woman ever has.

Looking at the whole picture now, I can stop wondering why it took me so long to fall in love. The romance novel way to say it would be to say that "I'd just been waiting for Sebastian to come along" but that's honestly rubbish. The truth is, I just never made time for it. And with Sherlock, it only got worse. Impossible to have a love life when a certain overgrown child won't give you a damn moment of privacy. All things considered, it certainly seems that I've found a good, steady place of happiness in my life. I can't wait to continue this adventure.


	14. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is where the heart is and my heart lies with you.

It's kinda staggering when eighteen months goes by and you swear you've only blinked. Odd as it may seem to some, John and I have certainly found happiness together in the eighteen months we've been considered boyfriends. I don't even pretend to know what the future holds for us and I don't really think it matters. There's so much good to focus on in the present.

  
Well, mostly. The only downside is that I'm bored most days. I don't have practical skills for a job. I have tactical skills. There's not much need for a sniper with Jim gone. I'd love to start a garden, but it's less feasible when you live in a flat. I've settled for a window box. Or two. Or three. The basil smells lovely, but my petunias are my prizes. John loves them too. He watches me water them and acts like it's some marvel. It's just gardening. Sort of.

  
I tell him at least once a week that all I want it a garden. Rows of Gerbera daisies and Chrysanthemums. Hostas and caladiums. Maybe a cute little birdbath in the center of it all. John promises I'll get my garden someday, but he won't say when. I'll just keep holding out hope.


	15. It's Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It may even be overdue

Two years has gone by in the blink of an eye. I'm still saving up to move out of Baker Street. To the outskirts of London where Basher can have himself a little garden. He begs me for it so often, I hate that I have to keep telling him no.

  
Everything's about to change, though. The rent on a quaint little house is not the only thing I've been saving up for. Tonight is our second anniversary and I plan on making it extra special. There are plenty of nice restaurants in London, but the nicest I can afford is the restaurant inside The Landmark Hotel. You'd think that's as nice as you can get, but there are far nicer, including one restaurant owned by Gordon Ramsey called Petrus.

  
I've had a private table reserved for months. Sebastian should already be there as I told him I'd meet him after work. Of course, I had to stop off at home to change clothes and put on some fresh cologne, but I'm not more than a few minutes late. Surprisingly enough, I'm not even nervous.

  
I greet Sebastian with a kiss on the cheek and one on the lips, apologising for being late. After I'm settled in, he excuses himself to the restroom and I sigh a little, reaching into the pocket of my blazer and take out the small velvet box inside. I turn it around in my hands and open it up, looking at the silver ring inside, watching the tiny line of diamonds catch the light. Now my heart decides to climb its way into my throat. I wanted to wait until after dinner... just before dessert, but I'm afraid it's going to burst out of me if I don't do it soon.

  
The waitress interrupts my thoughts and I jump slightly, startled. She apologises and brings me the wine Sebastian must have chosen. I tuck the box back into the pocket I'd withdrawn it from and thank the woman at my left.

  
Basher soon returns to his seat across from me with an apology and a smile. He looks so damn good in that suit and I'm quite looking forward to tearing it off of him later. But now isn't the time to think that way. I clear my throat and shift in my seat slightly.

"Basher... Erm.... Sebastian. It's been an incredible two years, and--"

"Oh, god. You're breakin' up with me, aren't you?" The look of heartbreak on his face is all too clear.

"What? No! God, no. Not after such a wonderful two years. I don't know where I'd be if you hadn't stumbled your drunk arse onto my doorstep." I can't help but laugh fondly at the memory. "What I'm trying to say is that... I think you're the best possible thing that could have happened to me after-- And I would like it... if you would continue to be the best thing that ever happened to me. I--" God, I'm terrible at this. It all sounded so much better in my head. I reach into my blazer pocket again and bring the box back out, opening it and setting it on the table in front of Sebastian.


	16. The Happiest Man Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can a man like me deserve happiness like this?

In a word, I am awestruck when there is suddenly a ring in front of me. My mouth falls open and I look up, meeting John's eyes. There's so much sincerity and hope in them when he asks, "Will you, then? Marry me...?" He's so beautiful like that: unguarded and hopeful.

I have to pinch myself on the thigh under the table. Nope. Not dreaming. Finally, I manage to smile at him. "Fuck. Yes. Yes, I'll marry you, John."

I can visibly see relief wash over him and his smile matches my own. "Well, go on. Put it on," John encourages. I can't help the trembling in my fingers as I take the ring from its little velvet home and slide it onto my finger. It fits perfectly and I'm filled with an emotion I can't place. I don't care who may be watching as I lean over the table and kiss him: John, my fiance. Sebastian Watson doesn't sound too bad. Or should I hyphenate? Sebastian Moran-Watson? That's not too bad either. Ah, who cares? I'm engaged and I'm in love. Things I've never thought possible for someone like me, and I couldn't possibly be happier.


	17. Unholy Matrimony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I get you alone, may God have mercy on both our souls

As it turns out, Basher is very impatient. I just proposed to him a month ago and now here we are, standing across from each other in City Hall just after lunch on a Wednesday. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade are the only ones with us simply because we need witnesses to sign the license with us, otherwise, we'd be here alone. That's all we want. That's all we need.  
  
Neither of us is exactly poets so we opted out of writing our own vows. We don't need frilly words to know how we feel about each other. The civil ceremony is like a dream. It feels entirely surreal up until I'm allowed to finally kiss my husband.  
  
Basher had insisted on becoming Watson, but I encouraged him to keep his name as well since it was important. And now here we are: John Watson and his husband, Sebastian Moran-Watson.  
  
As soon as the license is signed, we're gone: Basher straddling me in the cab on the way to our hotel room. It's a damn good thing we didn't rent tuxes because there's no way in hell we'd get the deposit back with the way we're clawing at each other. And I'm damn glad we didn't get married in a church because the things I'm about to do to my husband would make a nun cringe and a priest perform an exorcism.  
  
The moment we're at the hotel, I hasten to check in, Sebastian hanging off of me like a poor harlot in a coastal city during shore leave. The very second the room key hits my hand, we're bolting for the lift. Unfortunately, we're not alone in the lift so we have to give all our focus to remaining calm and acting like human beings instead of animals during mating season.  
  
The bottle of champagne at the end of the bed doesn't survive. It ends up knocked to the floor and smashed to bits. It doesn't matter. The buttons on my shirt don't survive any longer than Sebastian's do. We don't care. Neither of us knows how long our bodies are melded together, but it feels like hours. Halfway through our recovery period, we've moved things into the hot tub. I've never made love like this. It's intense, raw, and passionate. I think even Sebastian is accomplishing shapes and positions I've never even dreamed of.   
  
By the end of the night, we've made quite a mess of the hotel room and each other. Basher is lying peacefully in my arms, fast asleep. I keep tracing the ring on his finger which matches my own now. This is all I've ever wanted. 


	18. Home is Whenever I'm With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home sweet home

Hard to believe we've been married a year already. We couldn't afford a holiday following the wedding so he took me to Santorini for our first anniversary. It was gorgeous: the water was perfect, the Greek sun did us both some good. I burned a bit, but John tanned. I might have had a hand in that since I couldn't keep myself from rubbing him down with tanning oil every day. The opposite was less sexy: John having to rub me down with sunscreen and aloe day and night. I'm tan now, though. The red faded to brown and it looks much nicer.

The best surprise of all, however, was arriving home from Greece to find that John had put a bit of money on a house in Essex. A house where I can have a garden. It's small and quaint but it's all we need and I adore it. We just finished moving in last week. I miss John while he's at work. I always have. But it's less lonely now that I have my garden. Rows and rows of petunias, chrysanthemums, and daisies.In the back, I'm trying to grow tomatoes and spring onions, but they've only just been planted. I transferred my beautiful basil plants as well. I love when John uses my fresh basil when he cooks dinner. He looks so proud.

I was fine living in a flat for all the time that I had done so. John didn't have to start renting a house to make me happy. I would have been fine anywhere because I'm married to him and we're just as in love as we were when we were dating. But this house does make our life seem more complete and I wouldn't change a single thing for the world.


	19. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected visitors can certainly cast a shadow on our sunny life.

Basher and I have just finished unpacking the last box. We've made Essex our home for no more than a month now and I think it's safe to say we both adore it. We've both well moved on from our grief, we've fallen in love, we've gotten married, and we've settled into a peaceful, satisfying life. Nothing could possibly be better and I don't think anything could ruin this day.

I've just put on tea, and Basher is cleaning up packing peanuts and bits of tape that are strewn about the floor. This house feels even more like a home than it did when we stepped in after holiday. I can't help but smile fondly at the memory of the expression on Sebastian's face when I brought him here the first time. He was over the moon and I have never loved someone so much.

I'm certainly not expecting a knock on the door, but perhaps our neighbours have come to introduce themselves as Sebastian and I certainly haven't had time to do so.

Leaving the kettle to boil, I meet Sebastian at the door and slip my arm around his waist as I feel his wrap around my shoulders. "Must be neighbours," we mutter to each other in unison. I kiss his cheek with a smile. We've gotten in that bad habit of speaking at the same time or finishing each other's sentences.

At last, I open the door to reveal a pair of brunette men, one quite taller than both of us with curls in disarray and one shorter with mischievously glinting brown eyes. They're holding hands but I can see they're each wearing a wedding ring on their left. I've seen these faces before, but my mind seems to have gone into shock and I can't recognise either of them at the moment.

The short one smirks. "Did you miss me, Seb," he asks.

The kettle screams in the kitchen and the tall one gives a smug grin. "Oh good. You've put on tea." And finally, I realise...


	20. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end but there is no end for you and I.

Barely a second has passed since the tall one spoke and I've got the short one laid out with a bloody nose. John does the same to the tall one and we drag them each inside by the scruff of their collars. I don't know how Jim and Sherlock seem to be alive, but here they are. I've got Moriarty's blood on my knuckles to prove it.

I stand guard in the living room where the pair of genius idiots are bleeding on the sofa while John switches off the kettle and brings frozen vegetables to each of them. I'm reminded of John's and my first meeting and I'd smile, but I'm too pissed off at the moment.

The brunettes exchange glances as they hold the frozen food to their noses and John scoffs. "Fucking consulting husbands, now, hmm? Suicide sweethearts?"

"Not sure you have a lot of room to talk," Sherlock points out. "The two of you. Army husbands, yes? I thought you weren't gay."

I snarl and start to lunge at the detective, but John pulls me back, murmuring, "No. No. Minimal damage. We need them to speak."

"Fine," I snap, glaring at Jim. "You first. /Boss/."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit guys. It's finally done. A year and fifteen days later I've finally finished it. This goes out to you, Fischer bby. You're the bestest Moran I know and I loved being your John. Thank you for dragging me into the world of this OTP. I hope you're taking good care of my oatmeal jumper ;P Thanks for being a true friend. I hope you've enjoyed this and I'm sorry it took so long to finish.  
> Everyone else: Stay classy with just a touch of sassy. I love you all.


End file.
